Murder My Love (5 page)

Chief Wilson stared at Huff slack jawed. Dr. Kruger looked at Huff with a bewildered gaze while the other officers squirmed in their seats.

“How do you know that, Huff?”

“Chief, I had one just like it.”

Wilson immediately dispatched Detective Devlin to the crime scene to retrieve all the telephones. She authorized lights and siren, anything to get the phones back to headquarters as fast as possible. As Devlin was rushing out of the conference room, the Chief turned to Huff and said, “If this turns out to be something important, I’m gonna...Never mind!”

All eyes turned to Dr. Kruger. He was busy placing the carousel of photos back in its sleeve. He looked up to see all eyes in the room staring at him.

“What are you going to tell the folks in Hartford?” asked the Chief.

“Nothing for the time being.”

“How long can you keep this quiet?”

“Now you know why I opened a temporary office here in West Warwick and why I performed autopsies in the local hospital. My lips are sealed until I must return to Hartford. Of course, the CSI team has the evidence, but they know enough to keep quiet. But I can’t speak for all the hospital employees. They are bound by ethics and law not to reveal anything they witness in a hospital.” He stood up as if to leave. “But people do blab.” He walked to the door and turned, “It’s human nature.”

Chief Wilson called to him. “Sit down Doctor, we all need to listen to that audiotape.” She speculated that it would take no more than an hour for Devlin to return.

Meanwhile, Abby returned to her office and dialed D. A. Greg Rocklein’s private number. He picked up on the second ring. “Greg, we have a horrible situation.”

Chapter 4

Waiting for Sgt. Devlin’ arrival provoked a case of the fidgets. Everyone tried to look busy, to engage in meaningful conversation but none could do so. They went upstairs for coffee; they walked out to the sidewalk to voice their opinion about the crime, they tapped their fingers nervously on the conference table. Kruger remained detached. He busied himself by meticulously wrapping each photograph in tissue paper and placing it into a plastic envelope. He removed each slide gently from the carousel and placed it in a plastic sleeve. Chief Wilson was exasperated by the delay. Apparently Devlin retrieved the audiotapes but they were not a standard size. He called in to say the phone was broken, the cord was severed, and the tapes wouldn’t play in it so he was out searching for a cassette player. If that were not possible he would go to the company that manufactured the instrument. The chief called a recess and ordered police personnel to reassemble at one o’clock, after a lunch break.

Huff could think of nothing else but his late morning platter of cholesterol-laden goodies. He was happy with the postponement, as it offered him the opportunity to see a friendly face. It was approaching noon, plenty of time to squeeze in a trip to his favorite diner. He pulled up in front of O’Neill’s, which was a low set converted caboose. The exterior was aluminum-sided with a painted horizontal red stripe. The interior was divided into two sections by a center aisle. The right side was a long marble topped counter fronted by stools and the left side was a series of booths. A jukebox was available at each booth. Huff waddled in and took possession of his favorite stool. Sharon promptly greeted him. Her hair dyed flaming red was wrapped in a hairnet. She wore a pink uniform buttoned down the middle with a starched white collar. A beige apron stained with mustard, ketchup and indistinguishable matter was tied around her waist. A lacey folded handkerchief drooped from the left side of her blouse near the shoulder just below the collar. She was a woman in her mid fifties who appeared to have lived a hard life. Her face was furrowed, her hands were gnarled and her fingernails painted red. She never looked anything but fatigued.

“You’re late,” she said with a raspy voice, as though she was a schoolteacher admonishing her pupil.

“Yeah, I know. Big doings at headquarters.”

She brought him an empty cup and a cinnamon muffin. She left for a moment and returned with a pot of coffee and began to pour.

“Working on the murders?”

Huff did everything in his power not to look surprised. He had said nothing to her about the events at Elm Street and couldn’t imagine where Sharon had gotten her information. His first thought was to stay calm. He told himself to remain professional. He remembered what the chief had said. He didn’t tell his wife, so why would he talk to Sharon about it? Then he wondered what would happen if he divulged the information to Sharon and the Chief found out. He knew Sharon could keep a social confidence but he didn’t want to test her ability to keep quiet about these murders.

“What murders?” he said blandly.

“Hey, Steve! Don’t bullshit me. I know you too long.”

Sharon proceeded to tell Huff that the news was all over town. There was a whispering campaign. Some of the neighbors on Elm Street were not totally befuddled. They were aware of the new tenant who lived there and knew that she had a frequent visitor but said nothing to the cops. They didn’t want to get involved. When they had seen all the police at the house they’d put two and two together. “Hell,” she said. “You can’t sneeze in this town without some stranger saying ‘God Bless You’.” Steve kept his gaze on his coffee. He dared not look up for fear Sharon would see right through him. He didn’t want to corroborate her gossip by some inadvertent facial gesture and he certainly didn’t want to be accused of being the official leak. He wanted to ask her what she knew about the tenant and her visitor, but thought the better if it. Any question would only confirm that he was working on the murder. He got up from his stool, placed several dollars on the counter, turned and walked out without saying good-bye. As he reached the door, Sharon called to him, “I guess I’ll have to read about it in the papers.”

He knew that would be imminent, judging by what Dr. Kruger had said. People blab. At least, he wouldn’t be the one accused of doing the blabbing.

At one o’clock sharp all relevant officers on duty were assembled in the conference room. Sgt. Devlin had acquired and set up an audiotape player. He was about to press the play button when Kruger entered the room and took a seat. The room was so quiet that breath sounds could be heard. There were two tapes; a smaller prerecorded announcement tape and a larger one that recorded messages. Devlin inserted the first tape and pressed the ‘Play’ button. “This is Linda. I’m not here. You know the drill,” followed by a beep. No comment was proffered by anyone. It was a straightforward announcement; yet, it confirmed that Linda alone was the telephone subscriber and apparently the sole resident. Devlin removed it and inserted the message tape. He pushed the ‘Play’ button. The first sounds were those of static. It lasted about eight seconds. The next sound was that of a woman’s voice pleading for her life.

“Oh my god, Rita! What are you doing?” followed by screaming as if she were in pain, perhaps being injured. “Why, why are you doing this?” followed by static, then hollow thuds as if someone were banging on an empty barrel. “Rita, for God’s sake, don’t do this!” Then the sound of something crashing, more like shattering. The woman’s voice, “Oh God, please don’t do this!” followed by repeated shrieking, agonizing cries, then a voice that changed the dynamic of the investigation. A male voice was distinctly heard. He said, “Is she?” A five second pause, then “Here … just do it.” Subsequent to his order, repeated thuds were heard. Screaming. Shrieking. With each shriek, a thud was heard. A loud noise. Then silence. Then static.

The conference room was tomb quiet for a very long time. No one moved a muscle, not even to scratch a nose. No one wanted to ask a question or offer an opinion. Everyone stared at the Chief, awaiting her direction. Her face was like stone, impassive, enigmatic. At last, she looked up as if she had emerged from a trance. “This is the most hideous thing I have ever heard.” No one wanted to refute it. All murmured and nodded in agreement still reluctant to verbalize a thought. Kruger spoke. ”I’ve been witness to a lot of ugliness in my career, but this takes the cake.”

Chief Wilson stood up. he had remained impassive while listening to the tape. Now she was as animated as she had been on the porch of 172 Elm Street. This time she wasn’t barking out orders. This time she was venting her spleen and simultaneously delivering a pep talk.

“We’re going to catch these sons-of-bitches and we’re going to put them away for good. People like this don’t deserve to roam freely in society.” She pounded the table with a fist. “They’re fucking vicious animals! And that kind of animal belongs in a cage!”

She sat down again and slumped in her chair; spent, almost relieved that she could vent real emotion to fellow police officers. They could understand her anger. As none of her men had extensive homicide experience, the sight of the victims, the brutality, and now the victim’s pleading for her life was a baptism of fire. Wilson didn’t need much to energize her troops, but verbalizing her anger spiced with profanity was the perfect recipe to focus their attention.

Kruger approached the Chief and told her that he had to leave town and report back to Hartford. He said he had already checked out of the motel and that he would send a copy of the bill for reimbursement. The chief glared at him. “We just heard the ugliest audiotape imaginable, a woman pleading for her life, and your concern is for you expenses. Shame on you!”

“All in a day’s work, Chief,” he said without even lifting an eyebrow. He continued as if she had said nothing to him. Mechanically, he told her the bodies had been authorized for release to the next of kin. It was for the police to determine who had the right to claim the bodies. He had completed his work and there was nothing more he could offer from a forensics point of view, at this stage, until they recovered the gun, after which he could match slugs to the shell casings, or if someone were to be arrested, he could compare blood samples to the swabs he had taken, or if they arrested a suspect he could compare fingerprints lifted from the door handle. He said he would be available for consultation at any time. As he was packing up his papers he added, “You know Chief, it’s none of my business, but in a way, it is my business. You ought to consult with a forensic psychologist. Right now you don’t even know what you’re looking for. They can help.” Reluctantly, Wilson thanked him for his advice and said she would think about it. Kruger added, “Remember what I said about trying to keep this quiet?”

Wilson nodded. Kruger walked out of the conference room.

Huff raised his hand. The Chief glared at him.

“What?”

“I agree with Dr. Kruger,” Huff said.

“That’s nice. I’m so glad someone is in agreement.”

“You don’t understand, Chief. It’s all over town. If Sharon down at O’Neill’s knows, then everyone knows.” He waited for a response but none was forthcoming.

Wilson’s glare became sterner. Her face contorted. She walked to the window and looked out. She remained at the window for a considerable period of time watching automobiles pass by on Main Street. The monotony of it calmed her. She regretted her outburst. She wondered if her men thought it unprofessional. Would it help or hurt her image? It was much too late to reconsider what she had done. She could not unscramble the egg. The policemen sat impassively awaiting instruction. When she returned to the conference table it was all business as though she hadn’t lost her composure. She began to summarize the facts. She enumerated what was known and what remained unknown. It was unmistakable that two people were savagely murdered but they didn’t know the deceased’s relationship. It was now clear that two people who knew the victims undoubtedly committed the murders and participated in the act of mayhem. The relationship of the perpetrators was unknown. And there was the insignificant item of a broken flowerpot and the absence of a dog. The inside of the house was meticulously cared for with everything in its place. The flowerpot was incongruous. What was its meaning or was it nothing at all? She looked at Kurtz, “By the way, what did CSI do with that flower pot?” Gail wasn’t given an opportunity to answer. Wilson banged her fist on the table and shouted, “Who the hell is Rita?

Devlin spoke. “We don’t have much to go on, Chief.”

Wilson looked at him and said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Huff chimed in, “She had a roommate.”

“Who?”

“Linda Greenwell,” Huff said. He told the chief that he had gone to Community Hospital as ordered and asked around for information. He learned that Greenwell was well liked by her fellow employees. He also learned that she never dated. Some of the guys asked her out but she always politely declined. He also discovered that starting about four months ago a woman was living with her from time to time. That, too, was part of the gossip he gleaned from Sharon at O’Neill’s. They didn’t know her name. Greenwell didn’t say much about her to her friends at the hospital. Devlin chimed in, “That confirms what the old lady on Maple Street said, something about seeing two women in that house.”

Wilson’s face turned crimson. “When were you going to tell me, Devlin?” She barked an order to Huff, “Find out this woman’s name and put out an APB for her. Huff, you’re getting to be a real good snoop. Go to the post office and see if someone besides Greenwell is getting mail at 172 Elm.”

At the end of his shift, Stanton signed out. He was the oldest and most senior officer on the West Warwick police force. By all right he had been in line to become the next Chief of Police. Several issues precluded his appointment. It was not so much that he’d been divorced, as it was his behavior subsequent to the marital separation. He’d become quiet and introspective. He befriended no one in the department and lived alone. The people he worked with considered him moody. His emotional stability came into question. His resentment at not being selected was muted. He didn’t feel that he could take on the responsibility of the job at that stage of his life, but he was more than annoyed that he wasn’t at least considered. In spite of all the politicking that went on after the former chief’s retirement, Stanton was content with remaining a Lieutenant. He had no issues with Chief Wilson. She treated him as a professional and it was all that he expected. He drove home to his apartment, changed into his favorite blue jeans, boots and tee shirt, and walked the few blocks to Clarice’s Bar and Grill where he downed several bottles of beer. While sitting at the bar, he ate his dinner alone. It was what he did most days of the week.